I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(14)

“I’ll buy a baby name book, lacrosse player.” Her lips purse.

And my dick is a steel pipe.

I. Am. Insane.

“Open the door so I can set this beer down. Please.”

She frowns. “You’re sweating. What’s wrong with you?”

I am sweating. The ride here was a little surreal, me hanging on to every word she said, watching her face in the mirror. My shirt feels sticky, and my heartbeat is faster than normal. A clawing feeling is growing in my gut, the sense that I’m about to get my world rocked. I feel light-headed. I eye the distance to the concrete below. If I fall…

I lick my lips, about to tell her she’s what’s wrong with me— “Babycakes, you coming? Don’t forget we’re playing darts tonight to see who gets a kiss, and my aim is feeling lucky—”

Frustration rushes at me. Can’t I have any alone time?! “Give me a minute!” I call back at Ashley, who’s obviously gotten out of the car.

Serena crosses her arms. “Ashley the redhead, Bambi the brunette, and Chantal the blonde. You’re toying with them. They’re nice women—well, the jury is still out on Ashley. She kept giving me the evil eye, but still, you are ridiculous!”

I’m part of a contest I wanted nothing to do with, but I refuse to defend myself.

She knocks open her door with her boot, making a loud clattering sound. “You want to come in? Help yourself, Casanova.”

I shoulder past her and she clicks a light on behind me, illuminating the small apartment. I take a steadying breath of the cool air inside and look around, willing my chest to slow down. It’s apparent she’s put work into the interior, the walls a pale blue color featuring graphic artwork from the Beatles and Pink Floyd. A retro orange velour sofa sits against the window with pops of bright pink pillows. A green puffy chair sits in the corner, a basket of knitting supplies beside it, and a sewing machine sits on a desk beneath a window that overlooks the backyard. The place has a funky vibe and is fastidiously clean, yet cluttered with books and papers and magazines stacked on the coffee table. I see a collection of old albums. A laptop gleams from an end table. Two closed doors head to the right; I imagine it’s her bedroom and a bathroom. Her kitchen is tiny, only a table with two modern looking chairs, a little stove, and a pink fridge that looks like it came from the fifties. Marching in, I set her groceries on the kitchen table and pivot around to face her, but she’s already brushing past me to grab two of the bags.

She thrusts them at me, the clink of glass echoing in the quiet. “Here, take your beer, please. I doubt I’ll drink it.” She pauses and says grudgingly, “It was petty of me to buy them all.”

I can’t move. I’m rooted to the black and white linoleum tile on her floor as I stare at her. My chest rises, inhaling gulps of air. She took off her hat at the door, or somewhere, and pulled her hair out of her ponytail. Gleaming brown, copper, and blonde strands spill around her shoulders. Three colors in anyone’s hair should be over the top, but on her it’s…

My eyes scan over her face, clearly lit by the fluorescent lights in the apartment.

Adrenaline hits my bloodstream. Swaying on my feet, I right myself with effort.

She’s—holy shit—the girl from the bonfire.

Same face, petite body, and fierceness.

I had the hints at the Pig, then the parking lot…

That night from three years ago rushes at me, playing back in my head: the movement of her hips, the dandelion on her nape…

“When can I see you again?” I blurt.

“What?” Confusion mars her features, her nose scrunching. “Are you crazy? I’m not one of your kittens!”

I’m barely registering what she says.

Maybe I am crazy.

She’s…here.

Right here.

I try to speak and fail.

She nibbles on her bottom lip. It’s lush and a pale pink color. I remember the fullness of her mouth, how she melted against me...

“We can’t stand each other. I don’t know you,” she adds.

I swallow.

Oh…

Oh, she doesn’t… I exhale gustily.

“You don’t remember me,” I murmur incredulously, more to myself than her.

She pauses for a second, frowns, looks away, then shrugs.

I huff out a breath. I’m used to girls knowing me by the way I walk from clear across campus, or at least that’s what they say.

How could she forget?

I read the uncertainty on her face as she darts her gaze back to me.

She’s… God, she has no clue.

I tore that party up looking for her, staked out the freshman girl dorms for a month, asking about her, describing her. I even checked out the dance studio on campus, all while enduring the trash talking the team tossed my way, the kissy noises they made.

She doesn’t know that I’ve compared every girl I met to her, and they always came up short! All over a kiss!

The craziest part is, I was absurdly celibate for months, turning girls down left and right. Waiting. Holding out hope I’d find her. Am I the kind of guy who believes you can have a brief moment with a girl and fall hard? If anyone had asked me then, my answer would have been hell yeah, but now, after all this time? That’s crazy talk.

Clarity sinks in, and I lean against the table.